


The Next Contestant

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Pole Dancing, Strippers, domestic abuse, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn’t the life he saw himself having when he left school - glitter, sweat, heels, pole dancing</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Next Contestant

**Author's Note:**

> I'll watch you leave here limping...

How Chester makes a living is he struts down a catwalk in tiny leather shorts and knee high, six inch heels toward a metal pole that he hitches his legs around, reaching up high and sliding down it in a spiral.

His tattoos shimmer beneath a fine layer of glitter and sweat as he slides away from the pole. Bending his back leg and keeping the front one straightened he bends over, running one hand up the front of his lace-up boots and then the skin of his thigh. The crowd wolf-whistle and Brad dies a little bit inside.

He gets to his knees and looks up at the crowd through lowered eye lashes as another dancer stalks onto the stage. His shorts are as small as Chester’s and the crowd go nuts for him. It’s the same six inch, thigh high, glass heels that a thousand dancers have worn before him, but it’s not like anybody cares that they’ve seen it all before.

And Brad should be watching this other dancer, the way the light makes his tanned skin look, and the way his shorts are clinging to his hips for dear life, but his eyes are on Chester who is still kneeling at the front of the stage.

He reaches into the crowd and takes a shot off some asshole offering it out to him like this is a fucking altar. He necks it and licks his lips in slow motion, handing the little glass back to whoever and getting to his feet.

With his legs shoulder width apart he takes the other dancer’s hand in his and bends back wards, blowing a kiss at someone in the crowd beside Brad and this someone, this big nobody, they turn to their friend and say, “I wonder how much he charges. I mean, I’m sure it can’t be like, unaffordable anyway.”

And Brad snaps.

And before Chester and the other dancer can slide into the splits on the stage Brad has his fist balled up and socks this big fat fucking nobody in the mouth.

The music doesn’t stop and the dancers don’t falter. Chester grabs the pole with his hands spread wide apart and pulls himself up onto it upside down, his legs dropping open to the cheers of the crowd. He drops down gracefully and takes a bow. The music dips and Chester yells loud enough to be heard, “Give it up for Mike!”

And the other dancer, he jumps and wraps one leg around the pole, spinning around it in a circle until he reaches the floor. Brad is still nursing his sore knuckles as Mike climbs the pole and holds himself steady as he spreads his legs.

With a deep breath Brad pushes his way through the crowd toward the stage doors beside the bar. It isn’t long before Chester stalks out, stomping the ground like a catwalk model. Brad reaches out and grabs his wrist, pulling him closer. “So you accept drinks from them now, do you?”

“It was one shot.” Chester hisses, batting his fake eyelashes and presses a soft kiss below Brad’s ear. “And if that’s why you punched one of the customers I will move out.”

“He thought you were on the game. He wondered how much you’d cost.” Brad sneers, pushing Chester away. He stumbles, his heels catching on the floor and glares back at his boyfriend before he disappears into the crowd.

***

When the club closes it’s three in the morning and Mike drops into a chair beside Chester in their dressing room.

“Brad is outside.” He says.

Chester nods and peels off his fake eyelashes, wincing when the glue tugs on his eyelids. “Yeah I know. He can fucking stay there.”

“Forget him, Ches’. He’s just jealous because he’s a skinny little piss ant with no rhythm.”

Probably. But it’s more like Brad can’t handle the idea of any other guy looking at what is his and his alone. It’s not as if Chester doesn’t have rules. No touching unless he instigates it, and definitely no sex. He plants one foot on the desk in front of him and watches himself in the mirror as he unlaces his boots.

This isn’t the life he saw himself having when he left school. It isn’t like he’s miserable. But if Brad punches one more customer then he’ll be getting fired. And if he comes into work with another black eye he’ll be getting fired.

His mom, she always said Brad was a bad influence. But of course Chester knew better.

“Times like this you must love being single.” He says, glancing at Mike as he pulls off one boot and moves onto the other.

Mike laughs. “Yeah right. No sex and an apartment with just my stupid dog to go home to. I’d hardly say I love it.”

Makeup wipes sting Chester’s tired eyes as he wipes away the glitter and eyeliner. Wipes away this life for another night. He pulls off his shorts and replaces them with loose cargo pants and a baggy t-shirt. “God.” He says as he fastens his fly. “My cock hates me, seriously.”

“I’m sure Brad will suck it better for you.” Mike winks as he leaves the dressing room and goes to sign out.

Probably not, though. After tonight Chester will be lucky not to get his collar bone broken.

He shuffles out of the dressing room and locks it behind him, heading to the bar to hand it in. The hand that comes down on his shoulder is heavy and he turns with a fake smile plastered on his face. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” he says.

Brad shrugs, “Wait here. Wait at home. At least here I can see what you’re doing.”

“You mean who I’m doing, right?”

“Yeah. Like Mike.”

“I’m not doing Mike.”

“Right.” Brad nods and walks away, heading out to where he parked the car.

“I don’t need you coming here and fucking spying on me.” Chester snaps as he follows his boyfriend outside. The night air makes him shiver and he wraps his arms around himself.

“I’m protecting you.”

“From what?”

There’s something on the tip of Brad’s tongue, Chester can tell, but he says nothing. He climbs into the car and guns the engine, waiting for the other man to climb in before pulling away too fast.

When they get home there’s a pole in the bedroom. Chester, he bought an extendable pole for practicing on. He put it up in the garage and let Brad watch as he fell over and over, bruising his ass and smashing his hips into the bar.

And now it’s in the bedroom.

Brad throws a pair of six-inch stilettos in Chester’s direction and says, “Dance.”

“I’m tired, baby.” Chester says, calmly. “In the morning.”

“No.” Brad says as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “You’ll dance for me now.”

The malice in his voice makes Chester shiver and he does as he is told. He straps his aching feet into the heels awkwardly and pulls off his shirt sending a shower of glitter everywhere. Slowly, he raises his hands above his head and rolls his hips from side to side, his eyes closed as if he can hear some far off beat.

He grabs the pole and wraps one leg around it tightly but, with his pants still on, he slips and the heel of his stiletto slams straight down into the toe of his other foot. He winces and bites his tongue in pain, crouching down to inspect the damage.

“I’m waiting.” Brad says.

And Chester, exhausted and in pain, he hisses, “Fuck you. You don’t own me.”

Brad jumps off the bed and grabs Chester by the throat, pressing him against the pole. Their faces are close enough together to kiss, but Brad’s fist tightens and Chester chokes.

“No.” He says. “I do own you. And it’d be good for you to remember that.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out fifty dollars. He waves the money in Chester’s face before slipping it into the waistband of his pants. “Now get fucking dancing.”

How Chester makes a living is he becomes a different person on stage. He becomes this beautiful, glamorous dancer and everybody wants a piece of him. Anything to forget how things are at home

Anything to forget what a whore he really is.


End file.
